


Makes Sense

by gentian_violet



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Its basically canon with Extra angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to Dramatic Reconciliation, only made competitive because...its the boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentian_violet/pseuds/gentian_violet
Summary: Simon and Agatha are a matching set. A perfectly fine matching set. After leavers ball, well that's them on the fast track to marriage isn't it?If only Baz hadn't run off after that on loves light wings moment, a very different matching set could be dancing out there.





	Makes Sense

The Chosen one gets the fairest of them all. The hero gets the blonde haired beauty, thats how its always been, and how it should be.  


Simon watched as she tied a final ribbon to her wrists, blue and cream they striped down her forearms, candy canes with fingers. Agatha knotted the final blue stripe and grabbed his hand, swinging him out into the ballroom. He could see Baz, lounging against a pillar, looking past the brown-haired girl sucking at his neck, to gaze at Agatha. He shot Simon a smirk, a challenge.  
Simon pitied the brunette. Maybe Baz would threaten to burn down a forest with her as well, play the same wounded soul record. She wouldn’t be the first, and he doubted she would be the last.

  
“Si, I want to dance…Dance with me.”  
Agatha’s cheerful voice put Simon’s teeth on edge, but he swallowed his anger and let her haul him down the stairs. The school was waltzing, well, it was trying to. Most were stepping on each others toes and laughing, spilling glasses of sweet smelling punch. But not him and Agatha, they’d been dragged to so many dances by her parents, a waltz wasn’t difficult in the slightest, not to them.  
  
Nor it seemed, to Baz. Simon could see his arrogant head at the other side of the room, bobbing up and down in perfect time, he treated dancing like he did everything, a competition, something to be conquered. Simon swore as he brought his foot down on Agatha’s lily white shoe.  
“Fuck- sorry sweetheart.”  
It was strange, calling her sweetheart again, calling her anything again. In a way he had Baz to thank for that, if the bastard hadn’t pushed him off, not five seconds after calling him love. If he hadn’t left Simon alone, looking at Ebb’s body, well Simon wouldn’t have run out of there as fast as his legs would take him. He wouldn’t have seen the flash of blonde hair, or frozen Agatha to the pavement.He wouldn’t have clung to her and sobbed into her waist.  
  
And he definitely wouldn’t have kissed her.  
Not that it was a mistake, here he was having a perfectly nice night, she was perfectly nice, and could dance perfectly well. What was he complaining for? Absentmindedly he spun Agatha underneath his arm, just as the music changed to a Sinatra song and most left the dance-floor, baulking at the thought of a foxtrot. With Agatha he didn’t need to think, she leant left, he leant right, he stepped forward, she stepped back. It was easy, simple, and so very right.  
They spun around the dance-floor, it was strange really, for a guy who was known to fall over when putting on his trousers, Simon could look almost graceful. And when he was matched with Agatha, with a cream shirt and a blue, matching, tie. Two blonde ends to the same thread, he could look beautiful. Not many were still dancing now, not after the music had merged to a noncommittal swing song. Sensing a quickstep Agatha plucked at his collar, attempting to guide him off the floor.  
  
And he would have gone, the too tight patent shoes were beginning to rub, and he could see the buffet being stripped dry. But then Basil’s new pet brunette smiled at him, and the game was on. He grabbed Agatha’s hands and felt her straighten up, and accept that now they were dancing. Simon pitied the other couples on the floor, he would dance them into the ground before he let Pitch win.

It only took a glance at Agatha to sort their routine, this performance was taken from their Christmas party repertoire. As the main rhythm burst into life he slung her across his chest and then they were off.  
Maybe he took them a little closer to Baz and his new toy than was strictly necessary, but it was of no importance, Agatha’s feet and his worked in tandem, without issue. Baz however, was not faring so well. Clearly his short list of requirements didn’t include dancing ability, probably didn’t go much further than “a pulse”. Simon saw him wince as his toes were caught under the brunettes heel. As the speed increased, and he felt Agatha begin to lag, Simon considered dropping the whole idea, until that is, Baz shot him a triumphant look. Before he knew it Simon’s grip on Agatha’s waist had tightened to the point that she was almost suspended in the air.

Agatha and Simon danced like swans. Pale and beautiful if you ignored the straining muscles of bodies working at their finest under the water. They were graceful, honourable, pure. Baz however, Baz danced like sex at a 90º angle. All pelvis and hands, trust a Pitch to make a quickstep look immoral.  
  
Before too long it was just: him, Agatha, Baz, his toy, and a couple with matching flame red hair. The red-heads were making it up as they went, but liquid courage in a hip-flask was keeping them on the floor. 

There was no fun in this anymore, their feet hurt, it was a stupid _stupid_ idea in the first place. Simon, startled by Agatha squeezing his hand caught her eye. She nodded curtly at him once, before turning her prize winning smile back on.  
Fuck the too-tight shoes, fuck the echoey music, fuck the whole sodding dance and fuck: _fuck_ Basilton Grimm-Pitch. 

 

By the time they left the dance floor the blonde duo were sweating, trying to walk with poise through the rising pain in their legs, but it was worth it. Because Simon got to walk past a defeated Baz, got to see the contemptuous gaze he was levelling at that stupid girl. It was worth it.  
“She’s probably a perfectly nice girl” Agatha hissed in his ear as they sat down, “try and look…I don’t know, less murderous Si?”  
“I’m no-.” Agatha’s stare was becoming increasingly chilly.  
“That’s just my face.”  
“And it's a very good face!” Agatha responded brightly, kissing his cheek before she was swept up by two other girls, clasping her hands and leading her away to the buffet. Simon’s relief was short-lived however, as he met eye’s with Baz, who proceeded to raise his hand in recognition, Simon replied in like. It really was amazing wasn’t it? How thick the air could get in a hall like this? Even with twenty odd tables between him and Baz. That was the problem with ballrooms really, not enough furniture to keep idiot vampires out of your line of sight.  
  
Simon wasn’t quite sure when he’d decided to stand up, or what he was planning to do now he was stood up. Oh and now he was walking, walking where?  
It was like being stuck in a fog, and he was thankful to be rid of his magic, or Simon thought he’d have blown up Watford during this little stroll. But he did have his accursed wings, and he could feel everything touching them, could feel the chairs going _through_ them. Because of course he had to have them vanished for the dance, because they would clash with his suit, of _course._  
“Simon?”  
There was a hand on his back, a gentle hand, one that dodged his wings. Simon just stood for a second, trying to clear the fog.  
“Can’t have you making a scene now can we? Wellbelove would cut off your bollocks with a nail file.”  
The hand left as Simon lashed around, to find himself staring up at, and uncomfortably close to, one Baz Pitch.  
“What?” Simon spat.  
Baz feigned confusion, “Wellbelove, nail file, your bollocks?” And just to add to Simon’s pain, Baz preformed a horrible little sawing mime with his left hand. He was enjoying this, making fun of Snow, hard to break a habit of a lifetime.  
  
Simon spluttered, blinking in what looked, humorously enough like scandal. Maybe Simon was the damsel in the relationship after all, Baz pondered dryly.He wasn’t exactly the poster boy for self reflection, but even Baz could taste the jealousy at the back of his throat, though then again that could be the painfully cheap wine Watford had the gall to serve.  
“No words there Snow? Well then.” Baz placed his hands heavily on Simon’s shoulders, spinning the other boy around, before leaning down to mutter in Simon’s ear.  
“You just walk along, good dog.”  
To his shame, Simon did just that. Walking between those tables with as much dignity as he could, turning left when Baz pushed his right shoulder forward, right when he pulled it back. Agatha was watching their strange procession, so Simon attempted a reassuring smile. She didn’t look very reassured. They weren’t even a love triangle any more, Simon thought, more of a love square. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of Baz and love in the same sentence, so he squashed that thoughtdown, listing shapes in his head. Simon Snow did not know enough polygons to distract himself from the hands that were back on his shoulders.  
“Snow… _Snow._ ” Baz’s voice was very close, so was the rest of him actually. Why had Simon let himself be led here, why had Baz led him here?  
“Snow. The door.”  
Simon noticed the door in front of him, it was the door out of the hall. Why were they leaving the dance? 

 

With ice water realisation, Simon knew why they were here, Baz was going to kill him. The old families would be angry, he was magic-less and vulnerable.  
Simon pulled on the door handle, blasted thing was heavy.  
He supposed there was also that palaver with him sucking all the magic out of the Pitch house, they might be pissed about that.  
The Pitch house, with its stupidly big table, weirdly stuffy library, and wraiths under the beds. Some treacherous part of his mind reminded him that there weren’t wraiths in _all_ the rooms, Baz’s room was safe.  
Baz was pushing him forward again. There were worse ways to go Simon supposed, it would be a dramatic death, Baz ripping his throat out. Simon stumbled through the door, under Baz’s pressure. Turning idly to watch the lanky sod gently bring the door closed, before beckoning Simon to follow him down the corridor, into the bowels of the building. Actually did vampires rip, or was it more of a puncture and drain?  
  
“Hi?”  
“Amazing opener Snow,” Mock though he might’ve, Baz didn’t actually have anything better. Just looking at Simon, in that blue suit, with his hair scraped into submission by Wellbelove… Baz tried desperately to tell himself he was just hungry, that one emergency small mammal would make it all better. 

“Do vampires actually rip throats out?”   
“Merlin Snow. Are you actually allergic to pleasant conversation?”  
“You weren’t conversing, you were staring!”  
Baz couldn’t help but sigh, he was too tired, too gay, and too near to the end of Watford to be dealing with this. Of course he was staring, Simon looked delicious, he’d been with Wellbelove all night, like a beautiful matching set. Baz presumed he must have been a difficult child, because seeing the matching set just made him want to rip it apart, to dye Wellbelove’s hair, dirty Simon until he didn’t look like The Fucking Chosen One. Baz leant heavily against the wall.  
“So?” Simon just stared at him blankly, “so what if I was staring Simon?”  
“Being led to a darkened corridor, to get stared at like a dessert course by a vampire! Sorry if i’m not thrilled.” Simon’s voice had gone quite shrill, but Baz couldn’t catch his eye, couldn’t tell if Simon was scared or angry or upset, or all of the above.  
“Shut up Snow. I’m not going to eat you. It’d be like….killing a unicorn, gets rid of a nuisance but Crowley you’d feel awful.”  
“Are you calling me a unicorn?” Maybe the shrillness had just been fear, because now Simon was standing close to him, talking less like… less like Baz was embarrassing to be seen talking to.  
“Maybe? I don’t know.”  


  
Baz’s face looked so open, Simon was suddenly sent back to that first day in their room. Well, the first evening. Baz, leaning up against the wall at his leavers ball, looked so much like that lost little boy pretending that he could hang the moon.  
Baz’s eyebrows nearly shot off the top of his head when he realised what Simon was doing, as Simon pulled on Baz’s upper arms roughly, lifting him up off the wall. Before wrapping his arms around Baz. Baz was getting a hug, from Simon Snow. Crowley, he must really be looking rough.  
“I’m still fucking mad.” Simon said into Baz’s ear, his words clipped, but his voice gentle.  
“That’s fair.”  
“No Baz, you’re meant to get angry. We fight, then its done.”

“ ‘m not angry.” Baz realised he must sound awful, from the way Simon adjusted his grip on Baz’s back. Baz tried to distract himself by plucking at Simon’s blazer.  
“I get it, you and Wellbelove, makes sense.”  
“No.” Was all that Simon said. Was that “no you have to be angry” was he saying no to him and Wellbelove?  
“Words Simon, please.” Baz was past caring that his voice was cracking. Months ago he’d fucked up, really royally cocked up the last good thing that was going to happen to him. Running off because the world had ended, though in his defence he had thought he could have had an hours breakdown before Simon was shacked back up with Wellbelove. So either Simon was going to bring back a good thing, or Baz would goad him into staking him, a slightly more permanent good thing.  
“Please.”  
Simon was letting him go, Baz loosened his arms and just stood. Simon watched as some Grimm-Pitch gene forced Baz’s shoulders square, pulled his chin up with a string, but it couldn’t wipe his cheeks. Simon could though, so he did. Placing his hand on the side of Baz’s face, gently rubbing his thumb across Baz’s cheek. Baz started when Simon touched him, he felt like a spooked horse, Simon was so close, and so warm and: and still hadn’t answered him properly.  
“Simon.”  
He dropped his hand. The loss of contact felt freezing all through Baz’s skull. So cold that he barely heard Snow speak.  
“Makes sense.” He mumbled. And Baz felt the cold run down the back of his neck. Felt it freeze his spine, weld him to the floor. And then Simon’s hand was back on the side of his face, it felt like lifting a glacier for Baz to just lift his hand, to hold onto Simons arm.  
And then he was melting, because Simon was so warm, and Simon’s other hand was on his lapel and Simon was kissing him.  
Simon was kissing him.  
It was all Baz could do to hang on. To hold onto Simon’s arm, to put his other hand on his waist. To cling cling on desperately to the sun and try and keep from freezing. But the sun was pulling away, it was about to say awful things, Baz could feel it.  
  
“I’ve a fucking tail, nothing makes sense.”  
And then Simon grinned. And kissed him again. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did that book need more angst? Nope! Did I add extra anyway? You bet I did!


End file.
